


An Invitation

by Fallowfield



Category: Naruto, Naruto Shippuden
Genre: Assassin AU, Imperial AU, M/M, Naruto Mix-Up No Jutsu, Samurai AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 22:16:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18127196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallowfield/pseuds/Fallowfield
Summary: What kind of prince sleeps with an open window?





	An Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the piece I did for the [Naruto Mix-Up No Jutsu Bonus zine!](https://mixupnojutsuzine.tumblr.com/post/183120894490/mixupnojutsuzine-pdf-sales-now-open-the-naruto)

The days were filled with long scrolls and litres of ink, and the back of Sai’s neck ached from how he bent over his desk. But even through the wooden walls, he could almost feel the needles of the wind. It was beseeching the house to give way and let it through with a wild whistling. It was so bold. It never just dodged around, though Sai never doubted its agility. The house just creaked in response, ignoring its nuisance. Somehow he could still feel it, though, even as it did not get its way. His hands grew stiff from the chill, and he had to tuck them into his sleeves briefly to remain able to paint.

Everyone was opening their closets. Time to stow away the yukata until the sun shone favorably again. Now they dressed him more formally. The cloth tumbled from his shoulders like when he knocked a scroll from his desk and it unrolled across the tatami, revealing its galloping pattern of flowers or animals.

They were beginning to drop the familiar terms when they spoke to him, instead adhering to more formal honorifics. His eyes remained hooded half the day. He spent less time alone, but the rooms full of silent people were much more lonely than with his dancing drawings. The impersonal nature of empire. He filled his head with their dry, scripted speech. The only time it flared was with the fervor of bloodthirst and sabotage. A war machine. But he had no interest, no matter how long he was made to pore over it.

But now the sunsets grew earlier, bathing the sky in red as the sun fought its death. The night always won. He watched from afar. The open window framed a few dim stars as he looked up. He wondered how distant they were. The curtains billowed. He always had difficulty falling asleep these days. It was a time for change. The breeze grew sharper each day, beginning to scrape his face as it whipped through. He almost expected his palm to be smeared with blood as he touched his cheek. In contrast to the wind’s strength, the leaves were wilting as they clung to the branches, beginning to thin and crumble away.

They always asked why he slept with the window open, even as it grew colder. He wasn’t sure, himself. It just helped him stay present. The few moments before sleep were the purest time to himself he had now. Was this how he was going to go? Will he become swept away in the propaganda too? Or just drown into a complacency? At least the latter could release him into slumber.

And then the frigid edge of the blade caressed his throat, almost gently. Sai opened his eyes. He did not flinch. His eyes flickered upward, adjusting to the dark. Why hadn’t they slit his throat yet? The longer they paused, the more likely he could wake and react.

“Coming in the middle of the night. That’s somewhat cowardly, isn’t it?” His voice was so tranquil, it almost seemed to come from elsewhere. He imagined an assassin boldly coming during daylight.

“Heh,” the stranger responded, with a subtle laugh. “It just seemed like an invitation. What kind of prince sleeps with an open window?”

“Hm.” Sai blinked again, just beginning to discern the silhouette above him. Intriguing. “Well? Why haven’t you done it? Don’t you have a job to do?”

There was a glint in the dim light. The infiltrator grinned widely. The blade shifted, but still pressed delicately to his skin. “Maybe I want to relish it.”

“But how could I possibly mean anything to you?” The prince’s calmness was unnerving, but the stranger did not falter. “Isn’t the bounty good?”

“You don’t. I just wanted to see how you’d react to your last moments of your life.” Sai could feel the gratification the stranger felt, even as the reaction was so anticlimactic. “And yes, it’s incredible. The prince’s head on a plate is priceless, honestly.” Sai could feel his fingers shift. “But the process is such an indulgence.”

“Well what of it? An unknown attacker, in the dark. There’s no form to this piece. Mystery, yes, but how could I care about that if I’m dead. There’s no narrative to it. It’s just an entirely expected, tensionless event.” Sai’s voice wasn’t angry, but rather dull and factual. As long as his killer was having fun, he guessed.

“Well what do you want me to say? I’m just the messenger. I deliver death.” The stranger’s voice trilled with amusement. What a weird prince. “It’s not some sort of play.”

Sai’s face didn’t change at all. “Well? How isn’t it all a play? It’s some sort of power play, is it not? I don’t see how it isn’t. You’re not even that good a messenger. I just see a cat playing with his prey.”

This time the stranger laughed, somewhat loudly for somebody wanting to avoid detection. “You really don’t fear death, do you? What kind of prince are you? Every other prince I’ve seen begs for his life before I even do anything.”

Sai just gazed outward. “You’re that fearsome, I suppose. Have I heard of you?”

The infiltrator straightened a bit, cocky. “I’m sure you have. I’m Hōzuki Suigetsu.”

“Hm. Sounds more like a poet’s name.” Sai still did not emote, though he said contentious words. It was unclear whether he knew that.

“What!” Suigetsu’s hold on him tightened, taken aback. “You haven’t even heard of my legendary clan?! I should kill you just for that!”

Sai blinked, looking up at him. It was hard to see his eyes. The moonlight reflected off his teeth more readily. “But then I’d die without knowing of it.” It was not a plea, but rather, once again, a flat statement.

Suigetsu apparently hadn’t thought of that. “...well learn it,” he said after a pause, readjusting his grip on his blade, noticing how it traced a thin trail of blood across his victim’s throat. 

“Okay,” Sai replied, not flinching. “What should I remember?”

Suigetsu was momentarily conflicted. It was annoying to keep holding his sword at this angle. It was rather heavy to be holding so awkwardly. But he couldn’t allow his victim to die without his name on his tongue.

“Well.” He leaned back slightly and swept his free hand through the air. “We Hōzuki are an ancient clan of fearsome and powerful swordsmen known far and wide not only for our strength but also for our mastery at changing our form and infiltrating any security.” He sucked air through his teeth. “That makes for an effective assassin.” He nodded proudly to himself. “And the legends tell of Suigetsu and how he renders the limbs of every victim.” He laughed indulgently, almost retreating into his own self-appreciatory reverie. “They only wanted your head. So I can do what I want with the rest.” His tone grew dark with pleasure.

Sai nodded, as much as he was able. “Impressive.” He wished he had heard of them before. “Why don’t you let me get a good look at you? Then I’ll know exactly how fearsome my killer is. You’ll always have time to kill me later. And it’s not like I can overpower someone like you, or anything.”

“Ha.” Suigetsu’s gaze flickered down to him. He licked his lips, his grin menacing. He almost seemed amused. “You think I’m stupid, Sai?” It was the first time he’d used his name.

Sai wasn’t phased, though the display was terrifying. He still flatly stared out. “No. It’s just a shame I can’t lay my eyes on such a great swordsman, though I have the great honor of being at his mercy.” The tenor of his voice was completely featureless. It was unnerving.

“Heh, you got that right.” Suigetsu thought for a moment, then lowered his sword. He scrutinized his victim. He was slender and clad in long sheets of silk. Pale, uncalloused hands. The prince was right. He surely could overpower him at any moment.

Sai inhaled, shutting his eyes as he tried to quiet his racing heart. His face didn’t give anything away, but he wasn’t completely without reaction. After a moment, he bent and lit the lantern beside his mat. He looked up.

Sai’s face remained flat, but his dark eyes regarded Suigetsu, submerging him. His attacker was lean but clearly very strong and adept at his sword. Dark eyes, but bright, clearly prized sharp teeth. “Simply divine.” 

The assassin raised his eyebrows in response. Well, he couldn’t argue with that. His smile stretched to one side, entertained. The sword had made his arm ache, so he set it aside and elongated, stretching his arms over his head.

Sai waited again for Suigetsu to lunge and deliver his death, but it did not come. “Hm. You’re truly a work of art. Indulge me. Let me sketch you. Then when they find me, they’d know exactly whose work it was. Your fame would spread even more.”

Suigetsu paused mid-stretch. “Like a wan’ed poster?” Then he crossed his arms. “I haven’t seen one with me on it. Guess I’m too stealthy.” He mused for a moment. He remembered seeing posted of other swordsmen warning of how dangerous they were. 

“Well, in this case, it’s like a signature. You do your worst, then they find me, along with your likeness. It will be menacing. Good for your image. Then they’d use it to post your face around the city.” Sai’s pondering was so formulaic.

“Hm.” Suigetsu sized up the prince, looking him over closely. He couldn’t read any of his intentions. But the proposition was too tempting. “All right.”

Sai shut his eyes and tilted his lips upward, then turned and opened a small chest beside his mat. Suigetsu’s sharp eyes followed him. What a strange prince. He didn’t seem to care at all that he was about to die and even seemed pleased that he’d been given permission to draw him. The thin cut on his throat was concealed at this angle.

“I usually paint on handscrolls, but they aren’t well suited for a portrait.” He unfolded a square of silk, about half as tall as he was. “This will do better.” From the chest he pulled two ribbons of cloth, with which he tied back his voluminous sleeves. His arms were covered with streaks of ink. Suigetsu could tell he spent a lot of time painting. He’d only bothered to scrub off his hands because they were visible outside his sleeves.

Then he looked at Suigetsu for a moment with an air of calculation, pulling out a few brushes and ink. Most everything was worn and stained with ink. “Well? Don’t you want to pose in some way? And I assume you want your sword with you.”

Suigetsu’s eyebrows shot up. “Heh.” The grin spread across his face again. The attention was strange but thrilling. He rarely met any admirers, let along among his victims. He grasped his sword and jutted his chin out, his gaze never leaving the prince.

Sai was so content he could almost hum as he worked. It had been so long since he’d had someone pose for him, let alone someone so compelling. Suigetsu watched as his dark eyes flickered back and forth from his model and his work, his hand making long, delicate strokes on the silk. There was a quick rhythm to it, and Suigetsu didn’t realize for some time that he’d let his guard down, almost into a trance.

Sai was a fast painter, and when he was done, he turned the panel to face his model. “Well? This is what I could make quickly. If I had more time, I could paint a whole epic of your exploits on a scroll.”

The image was fluid and pleasing, but still carried a sense of danger. Sai had emphasized the sword and the teeth. But what surprised Suigetsu was the care he took in portraying the eyes. There was the sharpness, the threatening, but also the pride and art of his trade.

Suigetsu relaxed, clutching his sword in one hand, scrutinizing the image. “That will do.” He liked it immensely, in fact, but felt no need to verbalize it. It didn’t matter, as Sai could see the satisfaction in his eyes. The amusement at all the attention.

“Good.” Sai donned his contented smile again, wiping off his brushes and putting the ink delicately back in the box. His hands were no longer pristine and pale. A smear of ink spread across his palm. He guessed the time had come. He blew out the light and paused while his eyes adjusted to the dark again. He laid down. Once again the stars came into view.

Suigetsu just watched him, his finger brushing his blade. It would just be one swipe. Easy. He imagined the pool of blood as it crept across the tatami toward the panel of silk. His signature. A corpse beside a striking image of his likeness, framed in blood. What a captivating display, suitable for an assassin of his caliber and taste. But something held him back from striking.

Sai felt the hesitation. It rang like a bell in the room. Then an idea came to him. It wasn’t that the idea of death was that distasteful to him, but maybe this was better. “I understand you may enjoy your job, but I’d like to offer you a different one. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Ah, now you want to live. But what could be more worth my while than making my victim glorify me, then getting to slice his throat? And on top of that, for a reward.”

“If you’re at all interested in money, I know someone who would pay more for me than whatever anyone offered you.”

“Hm? And who’s that?” Suigetsu asked, his voice echoing his suspicious glance.

“I’ve come to be quite important here. I’m the heir, you know.” Sai’s voice was so unimpressed with his own position. “If I were to go missing, they would pay nearly anything for my return. I suppose there isn’t enough to satisfy bloodlust, but. If you leave enough here to show them you’re serious about your threats, you’d get pretty much anything you want.”

The smirk grew wide across Suigetsu’s face, and he crossed his arms again. “You sure have this thought through. But you’re right. It’s not enough to satisfy my bloodlust. I’d like to kill you. I’d like to very much.” His tongue brushed across his teeth. But once again, he did not move to slash.

Sai just remained where he was. His offer had been declined. He clasped his hands together across his chest, already laid out like a corpse. He imagined it without a head. Would they still dress him beautifully for a funeral if he were headless? Would they assemble his limbs again? He’d be laid out beautifully in the turning leaves outside. They’d stop making the empire his problem. He wondered what they’d do at all. But the panic would not belong to him, and this time they could not try to instill it in him, either.

Suigetsu halfheartedly pressed his blade to Sai’s throat, then stared down at him. The prince had just shut his eyes. “You want someone to take you. You thought it through. You don’t want to be here.” His voice was low and serious. 

Then suddenly he removed the blade and sighed. “Murder isn’t any fun unless the prey doesn’t want to die. It’s best when it’s begging.” He laughed lightly, then stood up again, his lip curling up. “Thanks for ruining it.”

Sai’s eyes opened, but he did not move. The swordsman turned away from him for a moment, thinking. “I better get something good out of this. They’d really give anything?”

“Yes.” There was no element of humor in Sai’s voice. Nor relief, nor excitement. Suigetsu rolled his eyes. “Let’s go then. And bring your brushes.”

Sai sat up obediently, then packed his chest with brushes, ink, and scrolls. These were his only belongings he really cared about, anyway. “Let me cut my hand, though. I think finding blood would make them the most frantic.” He held out his hand for Suigetsu to strike, and he made sure not to hesitate.

A spatter of blood fell across Suigetsu’s painting. It added an enticing mark of authenticity. Sai let the cascade mark across the image of the sword, then smear onto the tatami. It was intentional; he was adding another color of ink. Suigetsu looked on, somewhat impressed at the prince’s restraint.

Sai straightened, then stood, the silk tumbling around him. “All right.” Suigetsu looked to the window. He hadn’t expected to take a companion with him. He’d pictured himself dissolving into the night, blood smeared across his sword and his shirt.

But the prince climbed through the window after him, more stealthily than Suigetsu expected. The cloth still fell heavy around him, even with his sleeves still tied back. 

As he climbed over the threshold, the wind struck his face. The leaf had embraced its fiery red, then was whipped away by that breeze. It was able to let go, no longer clinging to its naked branch. And even though the wind had taken a hostage, it still relentlessly whipped against the house, unsatisfied with its prize. Sai could see the trees gently waving, releasing leaves that whirled around them. He wasn’t special, even though it had all been a risk, a test of constitution. 

But maybe it wasn’t the scrape across his face he’d been afraid of. It was of the season’s end inside these rooms. How he spent more and more time away from what flowed naturally, his inks and his scrolls. It was growing drier and colder and less colorful. More paranoid, but slower moving. He was so young to already tumble into the autumn of his life. He could feel it dying inside him, incorporating him into a killing machine much larger than him. It had no heart. He could feel his fading, even though he felt ache. He would have lost all sense of himself. 

And anyways, that brand of violence isn’t as thrilling as that of a swordsman.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on twitter @fallofield!


End file.
